I think I knew more about preaching before I began to preach. At least I was more sure of the things I was sure of. Now that I preach on a regular basis I have a better assessment of how little I really know about the art or science or whatever it is of preaching God's Word. There is a mystery to preaching that makes it so very different from anything else I have attempted, succeeded at or failed at--and all three are descriptors of what I have done in the pulpit so far.

I know there have been times in the past that I've rolled my eyes at preachers who have tried to explain to me just how difficult it is to prepare and preach a sermon, but I guess I didn't take their word for it because they make it look so easy. Albert Pujols looks effortless when he smacks a baseball 387 feet over the left-center wall at Angel Stadium, so I probably won't believe him when he says it's tough, but after I take a turn at the plate and dribble a few ground balls down the third base line, I might start to get it. Now that I've taken a few turns in the metaphorical batter's box, I think I'm starting to understand what these preachers were saying. It's not about whining or crying or asking for sympathy, but just the plain truth. Preaching is really, really tough—far more difficult than it looks on a Sunday morning.

There is a lot I could say about lessons learned, some of the joyful variety and some of the painful, but just one thing I pondered this week was the strange interplay between freedom and burden, two things the preacher wants to have and wants to carry with him as he fulfills his ministry. I think I've come to understand at least a little bit of what these preachers were telling me.